


I Think He Knows

by MissBeanSprout



Series: Lover [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Album: Lover (Taylor Swift), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Castiel and Gabriel are Siblings (Supernatural), Florist Castiel (Supernatural), Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Musician Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, New York City, Song: I Think He Knows (Taylor Swift)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBeanSprout/pseuds/MissBeanSprout
Summary: Castiel is your run-of-the-mill flower shop owner who’s been harboring a crush on one Dean Winchester since forever. Whenever the green-eyed man drops by (which is almost every day), he can’t stop himself from swooning at his winsome smile and lopsided humor. Castiel, unfortunately, has his tongue stolen by a cat, and falters every time.Day after day, Dean buys a single flower, a different variety each purchase, and Castiel can’t help but wonder if the man has a significant other.It’s a good thing, then, that during one heaven-sent afternoon, he finds out that Dean doesn’t.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Lover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035723
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	I Think He Knows

They met one fortuitous Thursday when Castiel was scandalized by the amount of orders coming in through the shop telephone. His customers were varied from those commissioning him for a small wedding to reserving a get-well bouquet for pick-up tomorrow. It was unusually hectic because his hired help, Charlie, had asked for a personal day, and Kevin, the kid in advanced placement that part-timed for extra money wasn’t available.

His business was only almost a year-old but it was quickly gaining recognition. The reviews for Eden’s Garden almost always contained a praise for the owner’s solicitous accommodations and ability to cater to every client’s needs. Anyone who knew Castiel would regard him as industrious and good-natured. He was the kind of person to wish a patron a good day and actually mean it. Castiel was a sweetheart, and the steadily lengthening roster of faithful customers was rewarding him generously.

“Alright, Mrs. Lopez, I’ll have them ready for you by opening. Of course. Always, Mrs. Lopez; you know me. Enjoy the rest of your day, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Pressing the _end_ button of the wireless, Castiel set it down on the counter with a sigh.

He loved what he did, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t exhausting. To him, it was worthwhile to be able to help people, and flowers aided him in that endeavor. It wasn’t easy at first, to find what he wanted to do with his life. After graduating with a degree in Business Management, he flitted from city to city, taking odd jobs while he sought what sort of trade he wanted to take part in. Then about 14 months ago, it hit him like a ton of bricks when staring at nothing in particular during his idle shift at a Gas-N-Sip, his gaze shifted into focus.

There, at the outside of the store, a meek daisy had grown through the cracked concrete.

The simple circumstance had rendered him stunned. Transfixed, his feet led him to egress, crouching down at the sidewalk to study the mystery of the lone daisy.

 _Are you okay?_ Castiel had asked in his mind. _This is an unlikely place to grow, little daisy. Doesn’t it get lonely?_

 _Sometimes,_ he imagined the reply. _But I didn’t choose to grow here. I don’t want to be alone; no one does. But dwelling on it would just make me even sadder. So instead of letting it get me down, I let myself grow. As my petals bloom, as does my hope that one day I am understood._

And in a lightbulb moment, Castiel wanted to shriek _Eureka!_

What a beautiful thing hope is. Even with the callousness of cement and the saturated heat of it from the sun, undulating in waves, the flower fought with valor. It hoped and it hoped that one day everything would make sense. That even in the most desolate of days, hope can bring you to places you never thought possible. The daisy’s shy petals and yellow florets held itself up in pride, and it was the perfect picture of life.

When Castiel peered closer down by the fissured concrete, he saw a burgeoning stem, barely there, biding its time until it could stand proud beside its valiant friend.

And he knew in that moment what he was to do.

That day, Castiel quit his job and called his older brother, Gabriel, to tell him he’d figured out which craft he wanted to embark on.

“You wanna become a florist?”

He replied as much. Gabriel had always been a supporter of his little brother, and they’d talked about him loaning Castiel money for a start-up when he finally picked a line of business. The elder of the Milton brothers by almost 10 years, he was already successful in his gig as a director and producer for an American cable channel, and he’d already spearheaded many television shows.

“Alrighty, then. I got you, little bro. Now get your ass to New York and open your flower shop.”

After a compromise with his landlord, a resignation letter for his manager, Nora, and a last-minute plane ticket to NY, he was back in his hometown and in the company of his rambunctious sibling.

The months that followed were some of the busiest of Castiel’s life. But they were also the most driven. It was no easy task to open a flower shop, nor any kind of business for that matter, but he was adamant about his choice, so he studied extensively, both through the internet and the city library, about the floral industry (he knew he liked bees for a reason), got into contact with suppliers, and visited the farms to verify their quality. Gabriel had been extremely supportive during the process, and three months later, Eden’s Garden had been birthed.

It was an unimposing shop, tucked in the corner of King Street in Hudson Square, with a rustic vibe going on. Everything was all about wooden crates and chalk, the walls painted a dull steel blue, punctuated with green vines scattered by the corners and hanging from the ceiling. Castiel adored it.

When, after a few months, the shop was beginning to garner attention, he could no longer carry his responsibilities alone, so he had posted a wanted ad in front of the shop, and there he met Charlie, and Kevin a few months after.

He’d scored a lotto with them, really, because not only were they conscientious workers, but they also became fast friends (despite the age gap with Kevin), and Charlie may or may have not crashed at Castiel’s a few times over the course of her current employment.

Castiel thought, if business continued booming, he’d be able to pay back his brother within—

Chimes of the shop bell interrupted his ruminations, the door swinging open as he heard the gruff pad of feet enter his store. Castiel could see the movement of the door shutting over the mass of flowers displayed in the middle of the space for convenient viewing, dividing the place, but it shielded the new arrival from sight.

He glided away from the counter at the farthest end of the shop, where the storage room was nestled, meaning to greet the customer, but a single stray of purple laid on the floor caught his attention.

Castiel sighed. Someone must have dropped it during the day. That British guy with the secret agent get-up, probably.

He crossed the right aisle to the end by the entrance, picking up the strewn lavender rose, sniffing automatically and smiling when he smelled the faint fragrance lingering.

When he looked up, his breath caught. 

Everything wound down to a halt.

All of the greenery in the world couldn’t amount to the storm of sea green eyes the man in front of him held.

They were the most alluring shade, trapped by an alluring expression bathed in sun-kissed freckles. His lips were pink and plump, slightly parted, with brows raised daintily, and like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to the man. Like Icarus to the sun, a sailor to a siren’s song, Castiel’s feet involuntarily stepped forward, unaware that he was holding the delicate rose to his chest.

“Um, hello.”

Castiel blinked.

“Hello,” his voice spoke for him.

The green-eyed man smiled tentatively.

“You have insanely blue eyes.”

Mouth working, no words came out.

“Are you the shopkeep?”

Time seemed to exhale its bated breath at that, abruptly returning to normal speed.

Castiel, sobering, nodded his head. “Yes, I am. I’m the owner, too. Actually.”

“Oh. Good to know.” The man smiled at him, and Castiel couldn’t help reciprocate it in captivation.

“How may I assist you today? This is your first time here, yes? My services range from flower arrangements to catering to small occasions. I don’t have the manpower for large events yet, so I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you if—”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” He chuckled, though wide, reverent eyes remained on Castiel. “I wasn’t sure which I wanted, but now I do.”

Castiel gulped, hearing his quickening heartbeat in his ears as the man lifted a hand and gestured with a pointer finger right at Castiel.

More specifically, at Castiel’s chest.

And the rose on it.

“Oh,” intoned Castiel, retracting his grip from his sternum and blinking at the flower. “Oh. Yes. An excellent choice. A purple rose, symbolizing—” _Oh, crap. I’m screwed now._

“Symbolizing. . ?” the man asked, trailing off, and only then did he realize that he stopped mid-sentence.

“Symbolizing. . .” _Mother of all things holy, save me._ “Creativity. Yes. Creativity, and majesty. You have a keen eye.”

The man had the nerve to look disappointed, as though expecting something more fit than what Castiel had said.

“Heh. Thanks, I guess. How much is it?” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, picking out a five-dollar bill when Castiel said, “$3.50.”

Castiel wanted to protest when the man told him to keep the change, but he grinned beatifically at him that Castiel was once more rendered speechless.

“Keep it. So you can remember me next time.”

Then he was gone, only the peals of the bell proving to Castiel that it wasn’t a hallucination. A vivid, gorgeous hallucination.

That was almost a month ago, and Castiel still hadn’t forgotten.

⧭ ⧬ ⧭

Castiel never forgot because the recondite man returned the day after the next. Though implicitly, Castiel knew that if he hadn’t come back, he would still remember those electric moss eyes nonetheless.

When the bells chimed again that day, he surely didn’t expect that he would be greeted by a wolfish grin that had haunted him the night before and the night before that.

“Hey,” he greeted cheerfully, meeting Castiel in the middle of the left aisle. The man tilted his head, and Castiel was once again dumbfounded, as the green drew to Castiel’s right chest with a smile. “Castiel.”

He smiled nervously at him, his heart beating erratically against its cage. “That’s me. Proud owner of Eden’s Garden.” Then grimacing, he appended, “But I already told you that.”

The man didn’t lose his grin at Castiel’s maladroit social skills.

On to business, he said, “I’m just looking for a single. Any recommendations?”

“I’m sorry?” Castiel choked, face burning when he realized belatedly that wasn’t that kind of question. “Oh. Oh, I mean, I have a v–variety you can pick from.”

He turned heel to hide what could only be his burning cheeks, and lead them to the other side of the shop, where rows of tall black pots sat on stacked wooden crates. Castiel gestured to them awkwardly.

“I have some asters, dahlias, carnations, tulips, you name it.” Looking back at the man, he saw him perusing the flowers with a bite of his lower lip.

“Do you have that yellow daffodil? What's-its-name, quill-something?”

“Ah, you mean jonquil?” Castiel made for the end of the division where a bunch of yellows clustered together. “The Narcissus jonquilla represents affection, sorrow, or, well. . .”

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek as Dean waited expectantly. The man took a stem from the pot, then brought it to his nose to inhale the scent. Its petals were vibrant, and wrapped in the man’s fingers, it was breathtaking.

“Desire for the return of affection,” Castiel ceded, wondering if the man already knew its meaning.

He nodded in acknowledgment, and Castiel’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. He didn’t know he was still capable of feeling rejection.

“Perfect, Cas. I’ll take this one.” The abrupt nickname took them both by surprise, but neither said anything about it.

Tempering his disappointment, he went for the till after telling the green-eyed man the price. Handing him the payment and once again telling him to keep the change, Castiel didn’t put up much of a fight. Behind the counter he stayed, barricading him from the man. He prayed that when his customer leaves, he would take these feelings with him.

He was still admiring the flower, glancing at Castiel as he back-walked to the exit. “Thanks, Castiel.”

“You may call me Cas,” he offered in what he hoped was a professional tone. “Thank you and have a good day, mister. . .”

When he was an arm’s reach away from the door, his eyes dropped to his shoes. It seemed like. . . As though he was acting. . . _coy_.

“It’s Dean.”

And the peals reminding Castiel again that it wasn’t a dream, he thought that maybe Dean _doesn’t_ have a lover after all.

⧭ ⧬ ⧭

The next week the green-eyed man— _Dean_ —came back, he wore that usual leather jacket and airy grin.

“Hey, Cas. Whatcha got for me?”

Charlie was in that day, and when she spotted Dean, she elbowed Castiel’s side and whispered conspiratorially, “Ooh, is that him?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Charles,” he whispered back, wishing to a higher power that Dean couldn’t hear their bickering as he surveyed the rows of pots.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You know, the reason you look like a deer caught in headlights whenever someone comes in, and then get disappointed. This time, you don’t look disappointed. On the contrary, you look whipped.”

Castiel took her by the shoulders and pulled her to the counter as she protested like a child.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Man the till.”

“But there are no other customers,” she said with a harrumph of indignation, but nevertheless stayed in her designation as Castiel approached Dean with a shy smile. Oh, Charlie is going to give him hell.

“Hope you’re having a nice day so far, Dean. We have all the usuals, but there are freshly delivered sunflowers if you’d like. A classic, if I may say so myself.” He disappeared into the opposite aisle when Dean wasn’t looking. Realizing Castiel was gone, he peered left and right, and Castiel reappeared with a happy sunflower in his hand. “Symbolizes warmth, dedication.”

Castiel proffered the flower to Dean, eyes fixed on him. “Adoration.”

And as though completely missing it, he grinned at the sunflower. “Perfect. You’re a miracle worker, Cas. A bit big, but it’ll do. It’s perfect.”

He took the stem from Castiel’s faltering grip. A good move, because if not for it, Castiel would’ve dropped the sunflower. It was definitely not warmth, what he was feeling right now. He could almost feel Charlie’s eyes burning on the back of his neck.

After paying for it, Dean headed to the exit, and Castiel followed suit only to strengthen his resolve.

“Whoever they are,” he spoke before he lost the nerve, and Dean met his eyes with a question. “I hope they know they’re lucky.”

Dean’s brows lifted at his words, and his expression turned to one of hopeful.

And Castiel thought his stomach could sink no lower.

⧭ ⧬ ⧭

Over the course of the next few weeks, Castiel was not any closer to getting over his stupid crush on Dean Winchester. Yes, he finally got green eyes’ last name by his sixth visit. He also discovered that Dean was a budding musician during the seventh, when he entered Eden’s Garden with a guitar case slung over his shoulder.

“I mostly perform in small bars during live night. Not much, but I love what I do, you know? I ain’t doing it for the fame. I just want to share what I have to offer.” Dean smiled serenely at him.

And if Castiel wasn’t in too deep before, he definitely was now.

 _God, have mercy on me,_ he thought deliriously as he escorted Dean out of the shop, eyes lingering on Dean’s footprints on the sidewalk. He had half a mind to follow where the trail led, but he was pretty sure his heartbeat skipped down 16th Avenue for him.

One Saturday night, he went to the next-door neighborhood’s bar where Dean would be performing. Because he absolutely did not search for ‘Dean Winchester’ in Google to find out where he’s scheduled to appear in front of a spectacle. Arriving, he made sure to loiter somewhere inconspicuous, because as much as he’d love to talk to Dean, it would be better for his health not to. Probably.

When those familiar freckles and lush eyes, this time with a denim jacket, got up the stage, a guitar in his hand, the hippopotami in Castiel’s stomach roared unintelligently.

And when Dean’s voice rang throughout the space, hyping up the small crowd, he took his seat on the stool and began plucking the notes. Talking, he could make heads turn, but singing? _Good Lord._ His whiskey-smooth voice pervaded the room like a blanket, and Castiel wanted to wrap it around himself and never be free. Dean definitely had the talent to go big. Plus, he was more than easy on the eyes.

Castiel realized the song had ended when applause erupted, someone even whooping. He immediately clapped his hands together, barely stopping himself from overpowering the noise and giving a standing ovation. Instead, he pulled his phone out of his trench coat and pretended to be busy as Dean’s eyes roamed the space.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice Castiel. He went backstage, encasing his guitar and going to the bar opposite to where Castiel was. Still, Castiel could see his figure slump down a chair and gesture at a bartender. The guy got him a tall glass of what looked like beer, and Castiel licked his lips as he shifted slightly to his right to stare sideways at him.

He gulped when Dean curled his fingers around the glass, serpentine and delectable.

Bless his soul, Castiel wanted him.

⧭ ⧬ ⧭

Monday morning, Dean came in early. It was a month since he first frequented the shop with the blue-eyed owner that had Dean wanting to visit even if his vase was still good for another day. The peals of the bell signaled his presence, and he was greeted by an Asian kid that looked like a high-schooler.

“Welcome to Eden’s Garden. Can I help you with anything?”

Dean smiled at him. “Uhh, hi. Is Cas in?”

Just as he asked, the dark mess of hair emerged from the storage room, face immediately lighting up. “Dean! You’re early.”

He was about to reply when the kid interrupted, “Wait, this is _the_ ‘Dean’?”

Blushing at the thought of Castiel talking about him and being regarded as such, Dean gave a nervous chuckle. “Am I that good of a regular, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes widened, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Kevin, Dean. Dean, Kevin. Our youngest.”

Dean shot him a smile, as Castiel told him, “I, uh, got this, Kev. Can you double-check the new delivery?”

Kevin nodded, and then left them virtually alone.

“So, Cas.” Dean rubbed his hands together, somewhat excited. “I actually want a dandelion today. ‘S my mom’s favorite. I mean, she’s back in Kansas but I like to keep a reminder, you know?”

“I have fresh ones at the back,” he told him, disappearing and reappearing a moment later. He extended the single stem to Dean, smiling softly. “That’s actually sweet of you, Dean.”

Dean accepted it, sniffing automatically but his eyes trained on the pretty flower shop owner.

Squirming under the intense stare, Castiel blurted, “My favorite’s a hydrangea.”

The man’s gaze turned curious. “Yeah? What’s it symbolize?”

“Well, pink represents heartfelt emotion, and purple a desire to be understood,” he divulged, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Though I’m having some trouble procuring purple hydrangeas. I think they’re eluding me on purpose.” He chuckled.

Dean looked absorbed at the admission, a lightbulb flicking on. “I’m guessing you like purple better?” hedged Dean, and Castiel laughed quietly, nodding.

Dean grinned at him. “Perfect, Cas.”

It was high-time Dean finally made a move.

⧭ ⧬ ⧭

When it was closing time and Castiel, trench coat on, went for the door, he absolutely did not expect the bundle of purples slipped on the handle. He gasped in tender surprise, and his mind instantly assumed the worst (well, best). His heart thudded against his chest as he reached for the hydrangeas wrapped around twine.

Three stems. He brought it up to his nostrils and relaxed at one of his favorite aromas.

Could it be? Could this. . ? He mentioned it to Dean just this morning. What if it was just a pitiful coincidence?

He stepped out of his shop after flipping the sign _Closed_. Locking up, he heard some steps behind him and whirled around to see a shy-looking Dean smiling at him, hands in his jacket pockets.

“Do you like them?”

“Dean?” he asked breathily, heart missing a beat. “You got me these?”

“Well, yeah.” He bit his lower lip. “They’re your favorite. I actually. . . I was having second thoughts on getting them because what if you’re offended that I bought flowers at another shop? Took me three shops to find purple ones, and I think I paced for like, 30 minutes. But yeah, I wanted to get them for you, I just hope you—”

“Dean,” Castiel halted him, trying not to let his unadulterated adoration show. “I love them. Thank you.”

He sighed in relief at that, laughing nervously, and Castiel thought—no, no thoughts. If he thought on it, he would just chicken out. So before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and gave Dean a peck on the cheek.

When he withdrew, Dean’s face was red, highlighting his freckled skin. “Was that okay?” asked Castiel.

Dean nodded frenetically, licking his lips. “I just want to let you know, Cas. Remember that day you told me, ‘Whoever they are, they’re lucky?’” Castiel gave a slow nod. “Well, no one’s lucky. I mean—I just mean there’s no one. If that’s what you meant. I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t want to.”

“Oh.” Castiel lowered his head, looking at the flowers forlornly at Dean’s words.

“No, no, no, no.” Dean waved his hands in an undoing motion, and Castiel’s eyes shot back up at him. “I meant I don’t like anyone else. I like, well. . . you.”

The blue eyes brightened, hopeful. Castiel breathed, “I like you, too, Dean.”

Dean smiled at that, pleased, and they ended up just staring at each other with goofy grins and faint giggles.

“Go out with me?”

“I think you already know my answer to that.”

“Good,” Dean said softly. “My apartment’s actually just there.” He gestured to the apartment building opposing Eden’s Garden, and Castiel’s mouth opened in nonplus. “You live just in front of the shop?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Convenient, really. We can take my car and drive somewhere. Is that okay? Or is that too fast?”

Gathering his wits about him, he gave a lopsided smile. “Sounds perfect.” 

Dean offered his hand to Castiel, and he took it without further second thought, following him to the building, to the basement parking where Castiel laid his eyes on a sleek Impala that looked as though Dean birthed it—or maybe the other way around. Either way, it definitely fitted Dean like a glove.

When they both slid inside, seated side by side, Castiel spent a moment appreciating the well-kept interior, which had Dean rushing with pride. Tentatively, Dean placed a palm on Castiel’s thigh, emerald eyes asking the indigo eyes _Is this okay?_

Castiel nodded with a smile, because he waited so long for this, and he wasn’t going to stop wherever the wind took them.

“So, where’re we gonna go?” he whispered in the dark.

 _I think he knows,_ Castiel mused.

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be a series, all inspired by Taylor Swift’s album, Lover. I birthed the idea on September 2019, but I only ever finished I Think He Knows. Should I continue Cornelia Street?
> 
> P.S. Y’all searched for the purple rose’s symbolism, right?


End file.
